Chapter 116
Her voice isn’t slurred, but her shoulders have dropped the way they do when you stop pretending you’re fine.
Nook at her, then at Emilia. Emilia, who still hasn’t let go of my hand. Lacey, who trusted someone enough to get gutted by them.
“It’s still the afternoon,” I say, my tone dry.
Lacey meets my eyes. “I can count on one finger the fucks | give.”
And because I don’t have the energy to fight her, and because grief comes in layers, I let her have it. She doesn’t need discipline or a lecture. She needs a moment where no one expects her to hold it together.
I wave the bartender off. I’d rather handle Emilia’s drinks myself. Took me all of two nights to figure out she pretends to like stronger stuff, but can’t stand anything that doesn’t taste like juice. She never says it out loud, but I’ve learnt to read the tiny signals; the wrinkle in her nose, the soft hum when something’s just right.
So I mix her beer with Coke, adjusting it until I get a quiet nod of approval. She sips again. Another hum. I don’t say anything, just keep watching her expression and tweaking the balance
between bitter and sweet.
This doing things for people I care about – has never felt like
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a chore. Julie always hated it. She thought I was too soft for volunteering to stay home with our siblings or handling every late–night meltdown.
But I liked it. I still do.
Honestly, it’s the only thing I miss about home.
The crying, the chaos, the clean–up – it never felt like too much.
Even when Maya was juggling boyfriends like they were drinks at a bar, or when Luka needed a full bedtime routine after every nightmare at two in the morning. I just did it. No questions asked.
Sometimes, when Julie’s tearing me a new one, which is more often than not, she reminds me of this flaw that really won’t be a flaw if I knew how to control it. When she’s particularly pissed and cruel, she brings up Jessica too.
I didn’t mind not getting into a relationship, it was what Jessica needed. I was okay with sacrificing whatever feelings I might have for her mental health.
But with Emilia, it’s different. She doesn’t ask me to sacrifice anything. Still, I find myself wanting to. She doesn’t have to speak for me to pick up the pieces. When she leans into me with that lopsided smile, cheeks flushed, curly hair falling over one eye, I don’t think about what I’m giving – I think about how full I feel just being near her.
She kisses the back of my hand, barely a brush of her lips, and it sends a current through my entire body.
I don’t move right away.
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I just look at her really look at her – and wonder how I got this lucky.
I wipe the corner of her mouth with a napkin, then wrap an arm around her and draw her into my side like she belongs there. Which, at this point, I think she does.
Lacey, true to form, ruins the moment.
“Fucking weirdos,” she groans dramatically. “I’m in emotional ruin and they’re cuddling like extras in a goddamn rom–com.”
LIAM
Emilia snorts against my shoulder but pulls away gently, nudging me with a quiet smile before moving to sit next to Lacey. She doesn’t say anything neither of them do – but they fall into a kind of easy silence, the kind that doesn’t need permission or apology.
—
They drink. Slowly. Quietly. Shoulder to shoulder, not facing each other, but not alone either.
By 3:47 PM, I’ve got two women sunk into their own exhaustion, tipsy on cheap beer and heavier thoughts. Lacey’s cup is on the ground, empty. Emilia’s head rests lightly on her friend’s shoulder. Neither of them is crying, but it’s the kind of silence that comes after you’ve felt everything all at once.
I sit with them. I don’t speak. Just stay close and keep an eye out, in case either of them needs a refill – or a reason to keep going.
It’s peaceful. For maybe five minutes.
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Then Emilia hiccups.
“But… but…” she starts, blinking slowly at Lacey like her brain’s buffering. “If whales are mammals… does that mean they have belly buttons?”
Lacey gasps, fully scandalised. “Wait. Do they?”
Èmilia turns to me. “Liam, do whales have belly buttons?”
“I’m not doing this,” I mutter, already regretting not cutting them off earlier. They’ve been at this for a while. First it was Santa, then some legend of some belly dancer, now it’s whales, apparently.
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